Author's note: Thank you for the kind reviews! I really appreciate it. This story has several more chapters; I will try to get at least one posted a day. The rest should be up by the end of the week.

Chapter 2

When Lucy next awoke, she found herself in her own bed back at the camp. For the fleeting moment before full consciousness returned to her, she was confused by the odd weight that had settled into her chest, unable to place the cause. But then it came crashing back to her, and with it a grief so crushing for a moment she couldn't breathe.

Tumnus. Mr. Tumnus was gone. Her very best friend in Narnia, in the whole world, and she'd been too late to save him.

She turned her head, squinting into the darkness of the tent; a few feet away, Susan lay sleeping on her own bed. From the angle of the moonlight, Lucy knew it was very early in the morning—only a little while until sunrise.

She closed her eyes tightly and clutched her pillow, burying her face in its soft folds. A tear trickled from beneath her clenched lids, soaking into the lightweight fabric of the pillowcase. Grief made it difficult to swallow, and she found herself once more fighting sobs.

It just wasn't fair! She'd only just gotten Tumnus back—when she'd discovered his frozen statue in the witch's melting castle she'd been sure she'd lost him forever. It was miraculous enough that he'd been returned to her then, but to lose him again so soon afterwards? She wanted to scream to the heavens at the injustice of it.

She must have made some noise, for across the tent Susan stirred in her sleep. Lucy froze, not feeling like facing her sister at the moment; Susan would hold her and tell her it would be all right, and Lucy didn't think she could bear to hear it. How could it ever be all right?

After a moment, Susan stilled, and soon her breathing was steady once more. Lucy allowed herself a small sigh of relief.

Though she was desperately tired, she knew she would be unable to retreat back into the blissful oblivion of sleep. She slid out from under the covers where she had been snuggly tucked—Peter, no doubt—and felt around with one toe for her slippers. Once they were on, she tugged her robe around her closely and slipped silently out of the tent.

She walked away from the camp, toward an outcropping of rock that faced the sea, and the distant castle. Cair Paravel, Aslan had called it—and she was to sit in throne as queen.

But she didn't want it any more, not any of it. What had seemed so magical and exciting only hours before was meaningless now, empty. What good was being a Queen of Narnia, anyway? What was the point? She'd already proven she couldn't do it; she hadn't been able to save the friend she loved so dearly. If she couldn't save him, how could she take care of a whole world?

She gave a shuddery sigh, and sat upon the dew-dampened grass, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. Already the ache in her chest was becoming familiar, a sensation she knew she'd carry with her for a very long time. Maybe for the rest of her life. It was no more than she deserved.

The tears prickled at her eyes, and she didn't bother to wipe them as they streamed, hot and silent, down her face.

"Why, Lucy," a deep, gentle voice suddenly rumbled behind her. "Whatever is the matter?"

She gasped, startled, then turned and saw Aslan standing behind her, his eyes glowing in the early dawn light as he looked down at her with kindness and concern.

Her face crumpled; she drew herself to her knees and flung her arms about the great cat's neck, sobbing into his rich golden mane. She felt one of his gigantic paws on her back, resting gently between her shoulder blades, and she cried harder.

"Oh Aslan," she sobbed. "It's my fault, it's all my fault!"

"There, there, dear one," he said, and she felt his voice as much as heard it, pressed against him as she was. "What are you talking about? What is your fault?"

"W-what happened to M-Mr. Tumnus!" she wailed, her words garbled by his fur. "I wasn't fast enough, I didn't find him soon enough, and he…he…" she couldn't say it. She clung to the lion, weeping harder than ever.

He lowered his paw and drew away from her. "He what?" he asked, and she heard genuine confusion in his voice.

She looked up, perplexity mingling with her grief. How could they not know? Wouldn't they have seen him, when they found her…?

"He...I found him, but the cordial didn't—it was too late," she replied, voice quavering.

A flash of comprehension crossed his features. Then, to her utter surprise, he smiled.

She stared at him, confused, and he raised one eyebrow, indicating with his great head a point over her shoulder. She frowned at him, not understanding, until—

"Lucy?"

She gasped, and spun around, hardly aware of Aslan's rich chuckle, for standing down the hill a little ways, looking worried and a bit frightened, was—

"Mr. Tumnus!"

Her words were scarcely more than a whisper, so great was her shock. In the faint morning light, she could see his lips curve into a hesitant smile, and he took a half-step toward her, wringing his hands together nervously.

"Lucy…are you all right? Why are you crying?" he asked, the smile fading a little as he took in her tear-streaked face.

The sound of his voice—which she had never thought to hear again—and the sight of him standing before her, alive, made her break into fresh sobs, though she was grinning so wide her cheeks hurt. She dashed forward and flung her arms about his waist, burying her face in his chest.

She heard him make a little 'oomp!' of surprise, but after only a moment his arms gently wrapped themselves around her. She felt him kneel, and adjusted her arms so they were wrapped about his shoulders instead, and rested her cheek against his scarf. Her tears soaked the red fabric, and she knew she should try to stop crying, but she couldn't; feeling him holding her was simply too wonderful.

Tumnus rocked her gently, apparently more than willing to let her cry, and seemingly unconcerned about the rapidly deteriorating condition of his scarf. One of his arms held her tightly about the waist, and the other moved in soothing circles over her back. Slowly, she felt herself calming; she took a few deep, calming breaths and pulled away, rubbing self-consciously at her reddened and tear-streaked cheeks. She was certain she looked a mess: two nights of sorrowful sleep had not left her very rested, and after all the crying her eyes felt puffy and swollen. Tumnus was silent, waiting for her to collect herself, but she found she was too embarrassed to look up.

After a moment, his hand came up beneath her chin and forced her head up gently so that she was looking him in the face. "Hey, hey," he crooned softly, an echo of the tone and words she had spoken to him not so long ago, at their first parting by the lamppost.

She gave him a watery smile, which he returned, reaching up to brush at the new tears slowly rolling down her face. "Lucy," he said softly. "What's wrong, dear heart?"

Her face crumpled a bit, but she swallowed hard and managed to forestall further tears. "I th-thought you were…I thought…" she swallowed again. "I thought you were dead."

Comprehension dawned on Tumnus' face, and was quickly followed by a series of emotions Lucy couldn't decipher. He looked away, and she saw his cheeks turn faintly red. "Oh," was all he could say.

In truth, his mind was reeling. He'd awoken on the battlefield, bewildered, and seen Lucy fast asleep beside him, though she wouldn't wake when he spoke to her. He'd checked her over, and once he was confident she hadn't sustained any serious injuries, carried her back to camp. Her siblings had raced forward when they'd seen him approaching, but he'd reassured them she wasn't hurt, merely overcome with weariness and toil. Peter had taken her from his arms—it had pained Tumnus to let her go, even to her own brother—and thanked him rather distractedly for looking after her, then disappeared into the tent the two Pevensie sisters shared, Edmund and Susan trailing after him.

That had been the last he had seen of her; it had never occurred to him to wonder why she had fallen asleep on the battlefield in the first place, or more to the point, why he himself had apparently been sleeping. It had all seemed so hazy…

Now, however, it all came back to him: the minotaur, the dagger…the brute had been aiming it at Lucy, and Tumnus had fought him, only to have the dagger end up buried in his own chest. It was a sacrifice he'd made more than willingly—but he was quite certain he had died, lying on that field.

And so, apparently, was Lucy. It made him increasingly uncomfortable, for reasons he couldn't quite define, to know she had been crying over him.

He looked back up at her, to find her watching him closely, her eyes wide and shining with a new layer of tears.

"Oh, there now, Lucy, don't—don't cry," he said awkwardly, and, ignoring his own discomfort at her concern, pulled her back into his arms. She came willingly, resting her head against his shoulder, and he felt her sigh swell against his chest.

"I think," he said, gently scooping her into his arms and rising to his hooves again, "that you haven't had nearly enough sleep these past few days, am I right?"

She nodded against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him, and his heart swelled with tenderness; for now, the emotion silenced the other less comfortable ones roiling within him. At that moment, she was not a royal daughter of Eve, or a future Queen of Narnia—she was an exhausted child in desperate need of comfort and rest.

"Then I think," he continued, walking back toward the camp toward her tent, "that it is high time you got some more, don't you?"

She made no reply, but he heard her yawn; he carried her to her tent and quietly (so as not to disturb the still-sleeping Susan) laid her upon her cot. She watched him with eyes heavily hooded, nearly asleep already, as he tucked her in tenderly and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss upon her brow. As he stood, however, her eyes snapped open again and she reached her hand toward him.

He took it, a question in his eyes, and she turned faintly pink but kept her eyes on him all the same.

"Please," she said. "Please, will you stay with me till I fall asleep?"

He smiled, and reached out to smooth the hair from her forehead. "Of course, dearest, of course," he whispered, settling himself on the edge of the bed beside her. She smiled wearily, and closed her eyes, her small hand still clutched in his.

He hummed a gentle lullaby, and soon enough, her eyes drifted closed, and sleep washed through her again.

Even so, he stayed with her.

TBC